HUM

by Dan Hawley

  Jason nodded dejectedly.

  “Once we run some tests and talk a bit more, we can see if a sleep aid is necessary.”

  “Thank you kindly, Doc. I look forward to seeing you tomorrow then.”

  Dr. Luu bowed his head slightly, and Jason turned and left the office. He walked through the door, into the waiting room, and across its black and white checkered floor. Jason’s thoughts dwelled on the possibility that this man might make him better. He allowed his feelings to swell into hopefulness. As Jason pushed open the metal door into the cool, crisp evening and took in a sharp breath of air, he felt relief. He was so distracted by the alien feeling that he didn’t notice the woman and child staring at him from the window above.

  CHAPTER 17

  Jason quickly texted Samantha to let her know that he was on his way and pulled out onto the street. It was dark, so he had put on his prescription glasses. The way the headlights and streetlamps mingled and bounced off the city’s glass and concrete caused a distracting glare. Jason wasn’t required to wear glasses when driving, his eyes weren’t that bad, but the thin-rimmed glasses sharpened images at a distance, which helped put him at ease.

  Driving was a stressful thing—gasoline-filled chunks of heavy metal and rubber, barreling down the road, guided only by people and their limited attention spans. They were basically driving ticking time bombs that were waiting to go off.

  About four years prior, not long before Jason had met Samantha, some dummy had run a stop sign, causing Jason to T-bone the shiny new Cadillac. Luckily this happened on a back street, and the vehicles collided at only about thirty miles per hour. Not enough to kill you, really, but enough to injure or at least shake you up. Especially if you weren’t wearing a seatbelt, which Jason wasn’t.

  His body had bounced off the airbag with a flash of powder and pain. He had sat dazed as his car began to smoke, disabled in the intersection. Playing repeatedly in Jason’s mind was the image of the fellow in the passenger seat seeing Jason’s car coming and instantly recognizing the danger, their eyes meeting. Eyes filled with fear, like a dying deer. Like the dead hiker. All in a flash. The poor guy probably shit himself.

  It had been a hot July day, so the passenger’s window was down. Good thing, or he would have cracked his head wide open right there and maybe died.

  Jason’s daze had turned to concern as he checked his body for injuries and checked it again.

  He had gotten out, walked over to the curb, and sat down. The ambulance sirens had wailed in the distance as Jason watched the driver get out, hurry to the passenger side of what used to be his shiny, new Cadillac, and swore. He swore, and he swore again, inspecting the crumpled steel and chipped paint where his door used to be. The driver stomped his foot like some angry child. He noticed Jason sitting on the curb from the corner of his eye.

  “Hey man, you ok?” he asked.

  Jason said that he was.

  The driver’s face then turned red and flushed. He took a step towards Jason.

  “You should watch where the fuck you’re going, man! You almost killed us!” The driver’s words shook Jason from his quiet stupor. His eyes focused on the angry man and narrowed into slits.

  Jason stood up, causing the Cadillac driver to take a step back.

  “Are you kidding me?” Jason roared. “You ran a fucking stop sign, you dumb, stupid fuck!”

  The man’s angry face had flushed with embarrassment as he followed Jason’s pointed finger to the bright red octagon standing on the corner. The driver of the Cadillac stood there in shock.

  “I didn’t even see it, man. I didn’t even see it.”

  When the ambulance finally arrived, one paramedic came over and asked if Jason was alright or needed to go to the hospital. Jason said he was fine, just a little shaken up. He had surveyed his body and felt no cracked ribs from the collision with the airbag; no severe pain in his neck or head from the sudden stop. He just felt like he had taken a good ass-kicking.

  He had given his statement to the police as he watched the paramedics tend to the passenger, whose look of realization and fear would forever be etched into Jason’s memory. The paramedics braced the passenger’s broken right arm and tied it to his body. His face contorted, and he let out quick bursts of angry pain as they moved him from the front seat onto a stretcher.

  Insurance had paid for Jason’s car; not that it was worth much. Jason had considered suing the guy. He had visions of himself showing up in court with some greasy lawyer and a thick, white brace wrapped around his neck. But when he attended court as a summoned witness for the state, he found out that the driver—Micky Johns—had had a few afternoon pops that day and blew over on the breathalyzer. And apparently, this wasn’t the first time either.

  Micky Johns was quickly found guilty of driving under the influence, careless driving causing bodily harm, failing to obey a traffic sign, and speeding. His buddy, the passenger, had a broken right arm and cracked pelvis for his trouble. Jason’s thoughts of suing this guy for everything he was worth quickly vanished as he realized the guy wasn’t worth very much at all. Jason had to resign himself to being grateful that he had emerged alive and relatively unscathed.

  Relatively, of course, because he did have terrible dreams for some time after the accident. Almost every night, Jason would dream about standing on a tall, brown brick building. He would look off the edge and take a step, knowing he could fly. Except Jason couldn’t fly. Everything around him would turn dark as he fell, the wind howling past his ears. The ground would rush up to meet him, but he always awoke with a jolt, right at the moment of impact.

  Those dreams had eventually subsided as time passed, and the trauma of the accident softened into memory.

  Jason adjusted his glasses as the SUV came to a stop. He looked left and right. His was the only vehicle at the four-way stop, so he pulled away. A few drops of rain hit the windshield, and he absentmindedly wiped them clean with a click of a lever.

  CHAPTER 18

  It began to rain harder as Jason pulled off the street into the parking garage under his apartment. The steel gate reacted to its programming and rolled into the ceiling with the sound of metal on metal. Jason brought his left arm holding the key fob back inside the SUV and closed the window. A few straggling drops of rain darkened the sleeve of his jacket where they fell. Once the metal barrier was lifted far enough out of the way, Jason pulled forward and parked the car.

  The elevator stopped at the lobby, and the door opened. Jason peered out from the shiny lift to see a man peering back. He was tall and lanky, well dressed in a black suit, clean dress shoes, and a light-grey trench coat that stopped mid-leg. Jason and the well-dressed man stared at each other for a moment. “Feel free to come in if you’re comfortable,”

  Jason said, his blue surgical mask muffling his words slightly.

  The well-dressed man’s head cocked. He, too, was wearing a mask, though it was dyed black and made of cloth. It matched his jet-black hair that peaked out heavily from under his tilted fedora.

  “As long as you don’t mind?” the man replied as he stepped into the elevator.

  They stood as far away from each other as they could.

  “What floor?” Jason asked.

  “Twentieth, please.”

  The well-dressed man had an accent that Jason couldn’t quite place. Northern Michigan, he guessed, or Wisconsin. Hell, maybe the guy was some beaver-eating Canadian. Jason pushed the button, and it glowed.

  “That’s one floor below us,” Jason said as he stared at a sign that read COVID-19 PROTOCOL: 2 PERSON MAX. OCCUPANCY with a picture of a surgical mask underneath.

  The well-dressed man said nothing, only shifted. With a flash of inspiration, Jason added, “That noise must really bug you guys on the twentieth, huh?” The man turned his head to look at Jason.

  “Noise?”

  “Yeah,” Jason continued, “you know, the mechanical room or whatever. I think Chester said it was on your floor. It sure is loud up in o
ur place. You can hear it through the walls and everything.”

  The man shifted back to continue staring at the smooth, silver doors of the elevator.

  “I don’t hear any noise.” He paused for a moment and added, “Except the neighbors’ screaming kid sometimes.” He chuckled to himself softly.

  “Oh,” said Jason quietly, “well…”

  The elevator slowed and stopped at twenty. The chrome sliding doors opened with a ding. “Goodnight,” the well-dressed man said and tipped his fedora before leaving the elevator. Jason stared after him, deep in thought.

  The elevator dinged once more, and the door closed. Jason stared at the glowing button that read twenty-one as the gentle pull of the elevator carried him to his level.

  The door opened with a ding.

  Jason stared out into the hall. After a moment, the elevator let out another chime, and the door closed. Jason stared at the control panel. The elevator remained suspended in the air on the twenty-first floor. Finally, Jason pushed the button he was staring at, and the elevator descended. The car stopped again, and with a ding, the shiny doors opened.

  Jason stepped out onto floor twenty.

  It felt weird and alien to be on a floor that wasn’t his. Uncomfortable and out of place. It was his building; he lived only one floor up, but walking around on a different floor felt odd, even though it looked the same. He walked in the direction that the well-dressed man had taken. As he passed each door, Jason observed them carefully, looking for a sign that said electrical room, or mechanical room, or even janitor closet. He found nothing but apartment numbers and a stairway. At the end of the hallway, he turned around to check the other side of the floor.

  Jason walked along at a brisk pace, feeling a bit like an intruder, picturing where his place was, one floor above. Jason figured his apartment was on the other side of the building, the opposite side of the well-dressed man’s place. That’s why he didn’t hear the hum, Jason reasoned, he’s all the way over on the other side. That knowledge slightly put his mind at ease as he passed the elevator and headed for the other side; the side that his apartment was on. The side where Chester had said the mechanical room was or must be if it’s not on the opposite side. Jason counted the numbers as he passed the doors. Then a stairwell. Then, Jason stopped and stared at the door at the end of the hall. The last door, the one that he expected to show mechanical room embossed on its little brass sign, was just like the others, except it read 2012.

  Jason’s brain was trying to make sense of it all. Had he heard Chester wrong? Didn’t he say there was a mechanical room below their apartment? Yes, he did. He even said they had it inspected, and that everything was normal and well within the appropriate decibel level.

  Well, where the hell was it then!?

  Jason’s thoughts raced as he stared at apartment 2012. Maybe he had missed it. He turned on his heel and swiftly rechecked all the doors on floor twenty. He had not missed it. There was nothing but apartments and stairs. As Jason pressed the elevator button to call the lift, he stood thinking, deep in thought. Maybe Chester didn’t mean directly below their apartment? Perhaps a few floors down? Maybe the damn room was in the basement, but the hum traveled easily up the damn hollow walls.

  And what was he going to do anyway when he found the door? Kick it? Flip it the bird?

  No, he thought.

  He wanted to press his ear up against it, to listen to the source.

  Suddenly, the elevator dinged as the door opened. Jason gave his head a quick shake, attempting to clear it, and stepped in.

  CHAPTER 19

  Jason opened the apartment door, and the aroma hit him like a wave. Garlic and butter and cream filled his nostrils, and he inhaled deeply. He stepped into the apartment and closed the door behind him. Samantha was playing music on her Bluetooth speaker; some new Top 40 song that you could shake your ass to. She must be in a good mood, he thought. He kicked off his shoes, hung his jacket in the closet, and rounded the corner into the kitchen.

  The room was bright and busy. The garlic cream sauce bubbled on the stove. The oven light was on, and Jason was now able to match the delicious smell of roast chicken to its source. A pot of water was waiting at a rolling boil, eager to soften the dried noodles.

  Samantha was indeed shaking her ass. She was half bent over the sink, washing some of the dishes used for cooking, her round bottom swaying to the beat. Jason didn’t think she’d heard him come in, so he snuck up behind her.

  “Ah!” She seemed to jump about a foot in the air when Jason grabbed a firm butt cheek in each hand. She spun around in a frenzy of shock and bubbles. Foam shot across Jason’s chest like he was washing cars at some high school fundraiser. His face was bright and smiling; eyes clear and mischievous.

  “Jesus Christ, Jason!” Sam gasped as she held her chest with one hand. “You almost gave me a coronary!”

  She leaned against the counter, her breath coming in short, sharp breaths.

  Jason chuckled.

  “Sorry babe, you ok?”

  Smiling, he picked up a wooden spoon and began to stir the thick, white sauce.

  “You bastard,” she said as she turned the music down. “Now get out of here. Did you even wash your hands?”

  Jason tapped the spoon and put it down. He leaned into Sam, and they kissed long and deep. She pulled her head back to see into his eyes.

  “You look good. Did you have a nap over there or something?”

  Jason gave her red lips a quick peck before letting her go. He walked to the sink to wash his hands.

  “It was good. Like, really good. Kinda like a therapy session or something. I just talked and talked, and the doctor just listened and took notes. Felt good to get some of that shit off my chest, Sam.”

  He finished rinsing and turned off the tap. Samantha handed him the towel from the front of the oven. “Thanks,” he said as he dried his hands.

  “Well?” Samantha asked expectantly, “what did he say?”

  “Nothing much.”

  Sam’s expression turned curious.

  “He just said I have a lot to unpack, whatever that means, but that I’m to go back tomorrow night and sleep over. I guess they’re gonna strap some probes to my head and see what happens. “Polysomnography,” Sam said.

  “Huh?”

  “It’s the test they use to diagnose sleep disorders. I googled it today. The page is still open on the laptop if you want to look it over before your test tomorrow.”

  Jason cocked an eyebrow.

  “Yeah, I guess I should, huh.”

  Samantha turned and poured the dried noodles into the boiling water.

  “I started dinner when you texted me. I almost had the timing right, but I didn’t want to overcook the noodles. Good thing you took a little longer than I expected.”

  Sam stirred the noodles to prevent them from sticking while Jason thought about his discovery on the twentieth floor.

  “Thank you. Smells good,” he said, opting not to fill her in.

  * * *

  “It will be the first night I’ll spend alone since we got here.”

  Samantha stuck her stainless-steel fork through the soft penne. She moved the noodles around in the creamy sauce and brought the fork up and into her mouth.

  “You gonna be ok here all by yourself?”

  “I suppose,” she said after she finished chewing.

  “At least you’ll get the whole bed to yourself.” Samantha nodded.

  “Sure. Big ol’ empty bed to match the big ol’ empty apartment.”

  “It’s not that big,” Jason said.

  “Actually, it’s fucking tiny.” They laughed together.

  “But still,” Sam continued, “It’s lonely here. I don’t know anyone; this pandemic has stopped me from meeting anyone or finding a job or doing anything really. I just sit around, mostly bored, not knowing how you are from moment to moment.”

  Jason frowned.

  “I know, babe.” Jason put his fork down. �
�I’m sorry things have been so crazy. But I have a really good feeling about this doctor. I think he’s gonna get to the bottom of this thing so I can get better.”

  Jason’s face looked hopeful and flushed as he spoke, staring into Sam’s dark eyes.

  “I will get better, Sam. I love you.”

  “I love you too.”

  Jason leaned in to kiss her and their mouths parted. Samantha reached out her hands for Jason’s face. She pulled his lips tighter against hers by the scruff of his beard, and she let out a little moan. Heat rushed to Jason’s groin at the sound of her pleasure. He ran his left hand through her shiny, obsidian hair and grabbed tight, pulling just enough for her to feel it. Her eyes rolled back into her head, and their tongues danced wildly in each other’s mouths. Jason’s free hand reached up and out and found Samantha’s firm, full breast. Her flesh gave way to his passionate squeeze; her nipple hardened and poked at his palm. His thumb and forefinger collapsed around the eager hardness, and he pinched just enough for a little pain. Samantha squealed. Jason stood up off of his stool and pulled her off hers. Still kissing, she grabbed him close, pressing his throbbing manhood against her stomach. She jumped up and clasped her legs around his waist, wordlessly begging Jason to take her to the bedroom. He eagerly obliged, carrying his lover across the apartment floor and onto the bed.

  * * *

  From the bathroom came the steady hiss of the shower mixed with music from Samantha’s Bluetooth speaker. Jason lay in bed, glistening with sweat, catching his breath, listening.

  Sam started to sing along to a song. She had a beautiful voice. One that wasn’t forced or fake. Just a wholesome, clear voice. She loved music. She had been in a choir back home (would this ever feel like home?) and even took piano lessons before leaving Pennsylvania. She had had every intention to join a new choir out here and to begin lessons again.

  COVID had other plans, Jason thought, staring up at the ceiling. Samantha loved that speaker. She loved that speaker because it allowed her to take her music anywhere. Sam would sleep with it if she could. Samantha used to, before Jason, but Jason can’t fall asleep when music was playing. Too distracting, he had said. He would sing along in his head or out loud for hours until exhaustion finally took him. Sam had suggested he try again to block out the hum of their new apartment. He tried it, of course. Anything to drown out the hum.